


Kind, sober and fully dressed

by middlemarch



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Bathing/Washing, Board Games, Crafts, Dating, F/M, Humor, Old Movies, Romance, Tuxedos, Weddings, Yarn, jazz standards, medieval times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Jake reflected on what Doug Judy had said as the speedboat zoomed away. Well, the part about Amy. And resolved to up his dating game.Or, five dates Jake and Amy went on that did not involve a bar, Die Hard, or skee-ball. Or crime.





	1. Chapter 1

“Jake! What are you doing?”

He was smiling, beaming really, bundled head to toe, a sloppily knit hat with a listing pom-pom on his head, a muffler wound around his neck, his navy parka thrown over a blazer with a paisley pocket square, a fleece vest and a button-down and the curving hint of an undershirt. A belt cinched the waist of his pants, he wore fingerless gloves in a deep mulberry, and he had gaiters (gaiters!) over mis-matched socks. One was argyle and she remembered Charles had an identical pair. Weirdly (how was this the only part that was weird?), he wore an gingham apron trimmed with white rick-rack. At her question, he pointed, as best he could with his unwieldy, marshmallow-y arms at the board on the table, the silver bag of tiles.

“Strip Scrabble, Ames. This way, I have a fighting chance.”


	2. Chapter 2

“This guy is literally the worst detective I have ever seen. He deserved to get knocked off by Count Dracula,” Jake announced, but there was no sting in his words. He was not at all exasperated that they’d spent the past hour and change watching “Laura,” one of her all-time favorite black-and-white movies. In fact, it had been his idea. That had not stopped his incessant critique but he’d shared the popcorn and let her have more than half of the afghan for her perpetually cold feet.

“You have to suspend your disbelief, Jake,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair over her ear, uncertain as to why he smiled so broadly when he noticed. “It was a different time.”

“A time when a detective could just be a moron because there was a pretty girl around? I’ll admit, she's a total babe. Don’t think that would cut any ice with Holt,” Jake retorted.

“‘Cut any ice?’ What have you done with the real Jake?” she laughed, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s me, Ames,” he said, but she shushed him. Dana Andrews had that look on his face again. She didn’t mind when Jake scooted a little closer though. And then a little more.


	3. Chapter 3

“You have to promise me, **promise** , that we will never speak of this to Charles,” Amy said. The firmness of her words was undercut by the sigh of pleasure she couldn’t help, the way her shoulders relaxed as he rubbed the lather through her hair. 

“Do I need to swear on a grave? Or pinky promise? My hands are a little tied up, just tilt your head, that’s right,” Jake said equably, massaging her scalp, his thumbs stroking away tension she hadn’t known she carried at the base of her skull. The scent of coconut and honey filled the small space of the bathroom and it was just as good as if they had gone to the islands. Some island, she couldn’t even choose one, every bit of Caribbean geography gone from her head. She couldn’t have named the capital of Trinidad if she tried.

“Mmm, just don’t say anything to him. He’ll never let it go,” Amy murmured. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t. Let’s maybe stop talking about Charles, while we’re taking a bath together? It’s creepy and that’s not the vibe I was going for,” Jake said. He was also rinsing all the shampoo from her hair, careful enough no soap was getting in her eyes. The water was cloudy with some bubbles around the edges, and she saw the way her legs stretched out to the end of the tub and how his did around hers, one knee breaking the surface like an atoll.

“Lean back, I got you,” he said. It was not as erotic as she would have thought, but it was infinitely more tender, the way Jake could be when she least expected it. He’d moved all her wet hair over one shoulder so she looked a little like a mermaid but it meant there was nothing between them, just his chest was warm against her back, and his hands resting on her thighs. 

“Was a good idea, wasn’t it, Ames?” he asked, his voice close to her ear, low and soft. She felt his hand stroking her thigh under the water, felt him stirring behind her without asking for anything. She wriggled back anyway and heard him catch his breath.

“The best,” she said. He couldn’t see her face, but he was sure to hear her smile and how it was the wicked one, the secret one that she saved for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, not "fully dressed" in this one but does anyone mind? I thought not.


	4. Chapter 4

“We don’t have to stay much longer, Jake,” Amy said, trying to gauge just how close to the end of his rope he’d gotten. He had that wrinkle between his eyes but neither hand was in a fist and he was not humming the theme to “You Can’t Do That On Television.” She had at least 10 minutes, maybe 15.

“It’s fine, babe. I can tell you want to go to that booth. The one with the yarn,” he said. As if every other booth had not been yarn or knitting needles made from reclaimed horn or spindles. There had been so many spindles. It warmed the cockles of her heart. It had not had the same effect on Jake.

“You’ve been a trooper,” she said, watching him smile. He had a bit of sunburn on his nose and his cheeks and it was unexpectedly a huge turn-on. 

“I knew you’d like this,” he replied. Once upon a time, there would have been a “boo-ya!” or “take that, Charles!” but he was feeling more secure, more convinced he was being a better boyfriend. He was-- she had the bag of yarn (alpaca, mohair and merino, dyed and undyed) and the new needles, an Italian tape measure, her name on a waitlist for an apartment-sized loom-- to prove it. She took his hand and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. There was some stubble, because it was the weekend and he often skipped shaving when he could, but it didn’t bother her. She liked it, liked weekend Jake without a tie, with eyes that could turn sleepy and beckoning, who was dead serious about putting sriracha in a pitcher Bloody Marys they could drink while watching cartoons.

“It’s not what you thought it would be though, is it?” she asked, sure she was onto something. She wasn’t a detective for nothing.

“It said Medieval Fiber Arts Festival, so y’know, I thought…” he began.

“You thought there would be turkey legs,” she said. He nodded.

“And jousting, I thought there would be some cool, getting medieval-on-your-hiney jousting and horses with like tassels and shit, and an announcer speaking in Old English,” he said.

“Old English sounds German. No one would understand it,” she couldn’t help interrupting.

“Well, that I did not know. One more point to Amy, queen of Medieval Times,” he laughed. She felt a little bad though, because there had not been even the hint of a turkey leg. There’d been a booth with apple fritters and stewed eels, but Jake had seen the eels first and refused to even try a fritter. They’d been heavy on the allspice but delicious nonetheless. He’d been a hard pass on the mead too, more fool he.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said quickly. There was a diner nearby, they were in Rhinebeck, he could get a decent craft beer and a burger and she had a huge bag of wool and a boyfriend who had passed up the screenings of Die Hard, Die Hard 2 and Die Hard With a Vengeance at the local movie theater that came with a free oversized tub of popcorn for an afternoon of hand-spun wool and very serious crafters. Fiber turned her on even more than a little sunburn. Someone was getting lucky tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

It would have been enough that he was not wearing a powder blue tuxedo. This was just… _beyond_. 

“We never finished that dance. On the cruise,” Jake said, holding out his hand. He was smiling, grinning actually at her response to his offer, which was her mouth in a perfect O of surprise, like a cartoon character. She had expected to have to wheedle him into going to her long-time bachelor Uncle Arturo’s wedding in the first place and had been off-kilter ever since he’d promptly answered “Yes. When and where, get me all the deets, I’m in.” When he’d arrived with his car actually clean, not one dented Fanta knock-off can in sight, the upholstery smelling only slightly of industrial cleanser and the lavender-vanilla Little Tree hanging from the mirror, wearing what looked like Armani (Gina must have made it happen and Amy blessed her for it, now and for all her days), and instead of whistling at her in the Rent-the-Runway Badgley Mishka it had taken her hours to finally pull the trigger on, had only said, “You look beautiful, Amy,” she’d thought she had reached maximum shock.

She hadn’t. It would seem that might be right now, though with the way the evening was going, she wouldn’t make any bets. He wasn’t teasing her over her delay in reacting, just waited for her to take his hand and head to the dance floor.

“D’you really want to?” she blurted out. It had been an hour-long argument to get him to the dance-floor on the cruise and then they’d stopped as soon as they’d realized it was a widows’ mixer, heading back to the canasta tournament that featured endless chocolate fountains. 

“Why do you think I agreed to come to this?” he replied. Tricky bastard, answering a question with a question, except that he waggled his fingers in a _Come one, let’s go_ gesture and she found herself taking it and walking out onto the pleasantly full crowd. She wouldn’t have wanted to be the only ones fumbling around to “It’s De-Lovely” but there was no chance of a stray elbow either.

Something had changed. She remembered enough of the earlier attempt at a dance to realize the way Jake held her, the confident hand at her waist, the rhythm he kept to effortlessly, were not the same. Not at all. Also, he smelled of cologne, not from a drug-store or Secret Santa gift, something expensive and woodsy, and it was deliciously distracting.

“What happened to you?” she asked, keeping her voice pitched under the band. 

“Okay, time for a full confession,” he began, then spun her without missing a step. He did it so well she couldn’t help but follow, and she felt the hem of her silk dress swirl around her ankles.

“Gina helped me,” he went on.

“Gina can do the American Social foxtrot?” All those jibes about being dowdy and then this?

“No, no. She refuses to do any dance that pre-dates the hustle. But she has a friend Meredith, who’s kind of a big deal in ballroom, and she gave me some lessons,” he explained. The song ended and the next one began and he kept moving easily, his hands warm on her body but not doing anything remotely licentious. It was a huge turn-on. She stepped just that bit closer to him and felt how his palms pressed against her, just that much more.

“You took lessons. Jake Peralta took ballroom dance lessons for my uncle’s wedding,” she stated.

“Like four. Ames, it wasn’t that big a deal. I mean, she only taught me the foxtrot and the rumba and the waltz. I knew the box-step. I’m not a cretin,” he said.

“You’re good at it,” she murmured, wanting to keep talking, wanting to rest her face against his Armani-ed shoulder and feel him bring their hands to his lips to he could brush a kiss against her knuckles.

“With the right partner,” he said, then started humming along with the music. She heard the lyrics in her head a beat ahead of the singer _It’s very clear, our love is here_ to stay and sighed.

“Forever and a day, that’s us, Amy,” he said. Not babe, not Ames, but Amy. Like it was their wedding, his last vow, the secret one that no one else would hear. She drew back just enough to look up at him then and saw the same expression in his eyes, undisguised, only love, the truest kind.

“That’s us, Jake.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought Jake could do a little better by Amy and that it would be a fun set of not-quite drabble vignettes to write. The title is one of Jake's many "the name of Amy's sex tape" lines, but suited to my purposes.
> 
> Laura is a wonderful mystery from 1944 with Dana Andrews as the detective trying to solve the murder of Laura, played by Gene Tierney. It also has Vincent Price and one of the most beautiful theme songs of all time (IMO).


End file.
